


songs for teenagers

by adreamaloud, daneorange (adreamaloud)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/F, cop neighbor au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:30:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/adreamaloud, https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/daneorange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa lives next door to roommates Clarke and Raven. It's as simple--and as complicated--as that. </p><p>That cop neighbor/clexaven AU that has been gnawing at me for weeks. Title is from Gaslight Anthem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. girls next door

 

On the night it goes quiet, Lexa is in the living room, cleaning her gun. 

She doesn't really mind it, the first few minutes, but by the time she realizes how /quiet/ it is, Lexa is unable to stop herself from looking at the clock _._

 _They should be home by now_ , she thinks. And by _them_ she means the girls next door.

*

It isn't really Lexa's style to snoop--especially when she's not on _active_ duty--but it wasn't like the girls next door made it hard: The walls are thin and when they talked loudly, their voices carried through the partition. Blame it on physics, sure, but the first few nights were nevertheless a nightmare: Lexa heard every table leg being dragged across the floor and every shelf being hammered into place.  

Which is not to say that was the worst part--to Lexa, the worst part was the _talking._ Always. And even when Lexa didn't want to eavesdrop--hell, she _wanted to._ Like she would a radio show, or a podcast.

 _Shit,_ Lexa thinks, realizing how she'd in fact managed to piece together portions of the girls' lives without actually even seeing them, just by overhearing snippets of their evening conversations. One was always talking about papers, so Lexa assumed she was in some sort of grad school--something technical, since she was always talking about diagrams and prototypes and what-not. In her head, Lexa likes imagining this girl and her thick books all over their flat; drafts of her drawings stuck to the walls, maybe. Certain small machines dismantled on a corner of their dinner table, maybe.

The other girl, meanwhile, liked talking about her co-workers, so Lexa thought it safe to think she was already working, though in what industry, Lexa has yet to find out. What she has ascertained though: Some of this girl's co-workers were totally unlikable, like that boy in the cubicle across hers who couldn't be bothered to wear headphones for his hideous taste in music, or that girl in HR who spearheads gossip about her. 

Their nights, though amusing in terms of story variety, are more or less always the same--one comes in before the other, just around the time Lexa comes home from her post-shift jog. It took a while for Lexa to figure out that it was just one person moving on the other side of the wall, but after some time, she got the hang of it.

Most nights, the first girl puts the kettle on; Lexa would likely hear it whistling by the time she gets out of the shower. The sounds are loudest in the kitchen, where the wall is probably at its thinnest, and sometimes, when Lexa braces a hand against it, she swears she could feel them moving.

Which is _not_ creepy at all, she likes reminding herself every so often. Some nights, when she fixes a cup of coffee before sitting by her open window and lighting a cigarette, she could hear them laughing and singing through theirs. She can't tell which of the girls does the singing, but she imagines the two of them hunched over a window-side table, a guitar and two bottles of beer between them.

It makes Lexa envious, somewhat.

*

The first time she tells Anya about the girls next door, they're on patrol. Anya pulls over and pushes her aviators up her forehead, leveling Lexa with a look as she kills the engine.

" _What?_ " asks Lexa, exasperated at Anya's eyeroll. She’s looking at Lexa like she’s just been caught doing something _criminal_ and is asking for her help in burying a body. Or something.

"Are you doing covert surveillance on your _neighbors,_ Vine?” she asks, tone serious.

“What? Fuck, _no,_ ” Lexa explains shaking her head. “My walls are thin, is all.” And then, after a meaningful pause: “You _know_ this.”

Anya groans. She’d been to Lexa’s flat many times, and on the few times she’d tried to sleep over, she’d been assaulted by next-door-neighbor-noises as well—and not the PG-13 kind either. “Please do not remind me,” she says instead, rolling her window down to light up. Lexa follows suit, fishing her lighter out of her pocket to hand over to Anya. “So you just— _listen_ in? By total accident?”

“Yes.”

“And you just happen to have profiled them in a frighteningly extensive manner—as if you were living right beside terror suspects, actually—for what? For _fun_?”

Lexa grimaces as she draws from her cigarette, blowing smoke out her window. “It comes to me naturally, okay,” she says. “It’s not my fault they talk pretty loudly and that I manage to retain all these details.”

“You need to get a girlfriend, Lex.”

It’s Lexa’s turn to roll her eyes. _Here we go._ “I’m perfectly fine on my own, _mom._ ”

“Don’t,” Anya shushes her, waving her pointer finger in the air. “I’m just saying—I’m sure there are a lot of girls out there who would appreciate your _memory retention_ skills.” And then: “Don’t give me that look. It’s been far too long since Costia.”

 _Oh god._ Lexa buries her face in her hand, rubbing at her forehead firmly. “Why are you doing this? Is it because I’m eavesdropping at the girls next door? I promise to stop—”

“You know that’s not the point.”

“I don’t _need_ to date, Ahn.”

“Then fine—subscribe to a new podcast or whatever,” says Anya. “No more privacy violations, okay?” Lexa sulks in her seat, finishing off her cigarette before flicking it out of her window. “Or, for god’s sake, introduce yourself to them and _tell_ them about the noise, if it bothers you so much.”

“It’s not a bother, actually—”

“ _Tell_ them. That’s what good neighbors do.”

Lexa sighs. Of course, had she really expected anything less than a ‘good neighbor’ lecture from Anya? “Yes ma’am,” she says, just as the station radios in an incident two blocks away from where they are. “That’s ours, isn’t it?”

Anya adjusts her aviators on her nose before turning on their siren, a small, satisfied smirk on her face as she gets their vehicle back on the road. “We’re on it,” she radios right back, before turning to Lexa, grinning: “Showtime.”

*

It turns out to be a rather long day, and Lexa finds herself coming home just after midnight, inexplicably exhausted. She had to facilitate a shit ton of paperwork while Anya did the interviews, and truth be told, running after files is actually more exhausting than an hour-long jog. _How is that even possible?_ she wonders, tugging off her tie as she fixes herself a drink. Not even Friday yet and already she’s raiding her alcohol shelf. _I hope this isn’t a preview of the next few days._

She almost has her first cigarette lit when she starts hearing the girls next door—they’re laughing boisterously, and they’ve put some loud music on. _What the hell?_ Lexa looks at the clock—it’s almost 1 a.m., and the noise next door could definitely be a _disturbing the peace_ complaint in the making.

Lexa sighs, buttoning her shirt back up. _Better get on that before someone gets a call,_ she thinks, unstrapping her holster but keeping her badge still hanging around her neck.

It doesn’t really dawn on Lexa that she’s about to see the girls next door _finally_ until she’s already done a fair amount of knocking. _Shit,_ she thinks, blinking. _I did not think this through._ In fact, she’s still smoothing her shirt down when the door opens, and she is greeted with a soft panicked yelp.

“Jesus fuck!” says the girl—dark-haired, medium build, maybe late 20s to early 30s. _And you’re profiling them like suspects for what, fun?_ Lexa clears her throat, shoving Anya out of her head for the time being. “Jesus. Sorry. Officer. I’m just.” The girl is still flustered, so Lexa wipes her hand against the front of her pants before offering it in a handshake. The girl is still flustered, but she takes her hand tentatively anyhow.

“Officer Vine,” she says, though with the music still blaring from inside the unit, she doubts that the girl hears her.

With an embarrassed smile, the girl shakes her hand once before mouthing an ‘excuse me’ at her and turning back to the room. “For fuck’s sake Clarke, turn the music down and get _here!_ ” She yells just loud enough for Lexa—and for the rest of the hall, actually—to hear her. The music dies down instantly—a welcome development for Lexa, absolutely. She keeps her eyes steady on the small red Santa hanging on their door— _it’s fucking August,_ Lexa thinks absently—and waits for the girls to emerge.

A different girl faces her this time—blonde, slightly shorter, but probably of the same age. _Definitely not sisters,_ Lexa thinks. She’d been talking drunkenly about ordering pizza, presumably speaking with her roommate, her eyes widening when she sees Lexa standing there, uniform and all.

“Shit,” says the girl, and Lexa looks down at her shoes with a smile. “Officer. Um.” And then, when Lexa looks back up: “We—I thought you were pizza.”

Lexa touches her chest briefly, like she were checking to confirm, and the girl— _Clarke, wasn’t it?_ —“No, I am most definitely _not_ pizza.”

“I could see that.” The girl smiles—she has this completely drunk blush upon her cheeks, and Lexa almost compliments it. Almost, because she remembers what she’s wearing—not that the way Clarke is staring at the badge in the middle of her chest can make her forget, either.

“Officer Vine,” says Lexa again, extending a hand—damp again with sweat. _Damn it._ Clarke takes it and holds on, noticeably longer than her roommate did, for starters. “I live next door.”

“Oh,” says Clarke. “Sorry. It’s the noise, isn’t it?” Lexa nods, and Clarke is still shaking her hand. Not that she minds. “I’m—we’re sorry. We just received some good news, and we thought to celebrate—”

“Well,” says Lexa. “Congratulations.” Her hand is still in Clarke’s; she doubts Clarke even notices. “But if you could—please keep it down. We don’t want a noise complaint.”

“Of course.”

“I’d hate to be called to respond to that,” Lexa adds, trying a smile herself. “Seeing I’m already off-duty, and I’ve had a long enough day.”

“We’re really sorry.”

“Just. Keep it down, okay?” And then, leaning closer to whisper: “The walls are thin. Like, _really._ ”

“And by really, do you mean—”

Lexa nods. “I can hear you eating chips at midnight,” she says. When Clarke laughs, she tugs Lexa closer by accident, like she hadn’t been aware at all that she’d been holding her all this time. Lexa crashes into her unceremoniously—chest bumping into Clarke’s shoulder warmly with a surprised, _Oh_.

Finally, upon realizing that the handshake has gone on for a _while,_ Clarke slides her hand away first, punctuating the gesture with another soft, “Sorry.”

“Not at all ma’am,” says Lexa, gathering herself. “So. Congratulations and please keep it down for the rest of the morning?”

Clarke gives her a small salute. “Yes we will, commander.”

Lexa turns her face away, afraid of the blush that’s threatening her face. She casts a final quick smile at Clarke before hurrying off to her door and locking it behind her.

 _Commander,_ Lexa thinks, taking off her badge first.

(She supposes no one would actually find out if she sleeps with this goofy smile on her face until morning.)


	2. serve & protect

 

It gets quieter, the next few nights; so quiet that Lexa finds it almost unnerving. _Did I scare them?_ she wonders, staring at the wall over the sink.

“Well, wasn’t that the point?” asks Anya later. They’re back in their patrol car, having coffee and a couple of smokes.

“To scare them?”

“Peace and _quiet,_ ” Anya says. “Thanks to you, now they know the walls are thin, right? Serve and protect.”

Lexa smirks, taking a slow drag and sipping from her coffee afterwards. “Right,” she nods. “Serve and protect.”

*

Come Friday night, Lexa gets an invite, haphazardly slipped under her door; she steps on it on her way in, and she rues the footprint her boot had left on the envelope. _Shit,_ she thinks, dusting it off; it smells faintly of incense, like it had just come from a boxed set of stationery.

There’s a “party” scheduled for that night next door, and Lexa seriously mulls going; one, not like she has anywhere else to be, and two, not like there is _traveling_ to be done, exactly. _What’s the harm, right?_ A few drinks on a night like this would be welcome, after all.

It’s Clarke who gets the door, letting out a small, surprised gasp when she sees Lexa standing on the other side. Lexa’s first reaction is to feel confused.

“I—your invite,” Lexa offers, off the still-shocked look on Clarke’s face. “That’s… _tonight,_ right?”

Clarke blinks, then laughs. “Jesus,” she says, exhaling as she opens the door wider. “Yes—I mean, _yes,_ the invite is for tonight, I was just.”

Lexa grins, stepping in cautiously. Clarke moves aside, ushering her in with the wave of an arm before closing the door gently behind her. “You were just?”

Clarke lets out another laugh, still shaky. Lexa looks around the living room discreetly, trying not to stare inappropriately at its small, homey details. _Stop profiling this like a crime scene,_ she chides herself, noting the series of polaroids tacked along one wall, anyway.

“I was just,” says Clarke, clearing her throat. “Expecting a police officer, is all.”

“Oh.” Lexa touches a shirt button absently out of reflex; she’d decided to come in one of her casual blue button-downs and khakis. “Well. I don’t usually attend parties in my uniform.”

“Unless it’s Halloween, right?”

Lexa narrows her eyes at her, trying to hold the serious face before breaking out in a laugh herself. “That’s actually—we’ve never tried.”

“We?”

“I mean. With my friends. Who are also cops,” explains Lexa, stuttering. “Though really, how fun is it to attend a Halloween party at the station with our uniforms on.”

“Probably not very fun,” says Clarke, helpfully. “Like this party. I mean, what kind of host am I, really?” She motions to the couch, signaling to Lexa that she’d be right back before disappearing into the kitchen. Lexa takes a moment to scan the place quickly—trying to absorb all the framed certificates on the wall, the smiling faces in the photographs, the globe resting on the top shelf.

When Clarke pops back in, Lexa stands back up from the couch, jolted. She stretches her hand out to meet Clarke’s drink-offering hand in kind. “Thanks,” she mutters softly, before: “So. Where’s your roommate?”

Clarke sighs, glancing at her watch. “Raven told me she’d be home any minute.” And then, off the follow-up question on Lexa’s face: “Her Friday grad school sched’s a bitch.”

“So I’ve figured,” says Lexa, taking a sip from her beer. “Engineering?”

Clarke nods, drinking from hers in kind. “I’d let her do the explaining later on. I get my specs wrong, often.”

“I see. Tell me about you, then.” Lexa hopes that doesn’t sound as nervous as she actually feels.

“Oh, me?” Clarke says. “I design… _stuff._ ”

“Stuff?”

Clarke shrugs. “Like, in an all-around sense.”

“Like, in advertising?”

“Hah!” Clarke lets out a small laugh. “I wish. We do weddings.”

“Weddings!” Lexa doesn’t mean to sound so surprised, but she is. Clarke drinks up, rolling her eyes and grinning. “Sorry,” Lexa continues. “I didn’t mean—just. _Weddings._ Like, invitations and things?”

“Posters, backdrops, on-the-day props… and oh, a bit of video.” And then: “Want me to do your name in fancy wedding type?” Clarke brushes against Lexa’s knee when she reaches over for the marker and the pieces of paper on the living room table.

“You’re left-handed,” says Lexa, finally finding her voice.

“You’re the _fifteen-hundredth_ right-handed person to note that,” Clarke replies, nodding as she smiles. When Lexa takes a peek, she’s already written the word “Officer” with flourishes. _Shit,_ Lexa thinks. _Have I even told her my first name?_

When Clarke finishes writing “Vine” Lexa swallows hard. _Well, this is going to be awkward._ “You know, I do have a first name.”

“Really?” Clarke says nonchalantly. “I thought it was _Officer._ ” She hands the paper over as she finishes, tip of her tongue sticking out playfully from between her teeth. “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely,” says Lexa, breathing in. “You’re really good at what you do.”

“That I am.”

“My name is Lexa, by the way.”

“It’s lovely,” Clarke says, and Lexa grapples with the rest of her response as Clarke slips her hand in hers in a handshake. “My name is Clarke. Griffin, if you must know the rest of it—appropriate for a getting to know party, eh?”

Lexa nods. “Yeah, I suppose so,” she manages despite the dryness in her mouth and the boulder in her throat. She takes that moment to hold Clarke’s stare—her eyes are blue, and she’s looking at Lexa with a fond sort of _confusion_ that’s almost endearing.

Just then, the door opens and in comes Raven noisily, her arms filled with paper bags. Lexa blinks and the moment breaks, just like that.  

“Aw shucks,” Raven says at the door, regarding the both of them with a pout. Lexa schools her expression so as not to seem too caught off-guard. “You started without me!”

“Hardly,” Clarke shoots back, slipping her hand from Lexa’s just as quickly. “Look, we’re just getting acquainted.”

“I was just telling her my name, actually,” says Lexa, helpfully. And then, off the softening look on Raven’s face: “Drinks?”

*

The night goes by wrapped in a pleasant buzz. Raven starts talking about _zero gravity tech_ the moment she opens the first pack of Cheetos on the table, and Clarke shushes her with a quick, “Stop scaring the guest” quip.

Raven laughs—an easy sound, Lexa thinks. “Who, me?” Raven says, mock offended. “I’m just getting _started._ ”

Clarke tosses a piece of balled up tissue at Raven, making sure to launch it strong enough so it sails well past Lexa’s lap. Lexa sits back, letting the projectile through; it misses Raven by a _mile_ and Raven laughs out even louder. Clarke lets out a disgruntled huff.

“Now you’re just making a mess,” says Raven. Clarke just sticks her tongue out as she stands to gather their beer bottles before heading into the kitchen, presumably to get round five—or is it already their sixth?

“Sorry about Clarke,” Raven says from beside her, nudging Lexa’s knee. “Her aim is better when sober.”

“She’s not too bad.” Lexa can feel her tongue getting heavy with the drinks of the night, and when she looks at Raven, there’s already a blush on her face that is quite telling of just how many they’ve already had to drink. “How long have you guys been together?”

Raven puts on an easy smile, but there’s something to it that Lexa couldn’t quite put her finger on. _It’s the drinks,_ she tells herself. “We were kids together,” says Raven.

“I see.”

“Couldn’t shake her off if I wanted to.”

“I’m guessing Clarke _could be_ quite a handful,” says Lexa, looking up just as Clarke tumbles back into the living room, right on cue. Lexa gets to her feet, hands out to steady Clarke and to take the beer bottles out of her hand.

“ _Hey_.” Clarke all but crashes into Lexa’s arms with a soft giggle. Back on the couch, Raven is laughing softly to herself, munching on the leftover Cheetos on the table. “You all right?” asks Lexa.

There’s a long pause as Clarke tries to reboot herself, and after a handful of moments, she finally pushes off Lexa’s shoulder and heads for the couch, where she collapses promptly onto Raven. Raven laughs like she’s being tickled.

“You have Cheetos on your cheek,” Raven tells Clarke, winking at Lexa over Clarke’s shoulder; Lexa, who has remained standing in the middle of the living room while hanging onto all of the beer.   _What exactly am I looking at?_ Lexa wonders, proceeding to drink.

“Hey give us some, chief,” says Raven, motioning with her free hand. With Clarke still in her lap, there really isn’t much she could do anyway, so Lexa just approaches and hands one over. _Might as well._ “Thanks.”

With Clarke already comfortably taking up the rest of the couch, Lexa just perches herself upon the armrest and nurses her drink in quiet. She takes a look around—anywhere but the warm huddle of Clarke and Raven’s bodies on the other end—and spies the half-filled ashtray on one of the shelves.

“You mind?” asks Lexa, touching her breast pocket to check for cigarettes. Raven nods, pointing to the lighter on the table that Lexa picks up on the way to the window. “I hear you sometimes,” she says as she lights up. “I mean. When your window’s open and you’re—singing? I think.”

“Oh,” Raven says. She has her fingers idly brushing through Clarke’s hair, the gesture so _ordinary,_ like they’ve been here countless times. “Clarke likes taking her guitar out for a spin once in a while.”

“What a total package,” says Lexa, her cigarette-holding hand hanging out of the window. “Do you sing?”

“The occasional karaoke—you should let us take you, one time,” says Raven. “Tag your friends along, maybe. You have a crew?”

Lexa laughs, and to her ear, she starts sounding more and more inebriated. _Shit,_ she thinks, taking a shaky drag before exhaling. “You make it sound like I run a hip-hop group.”

Raven laughs along. “I really like your sense of humor, chief,” she says, and right then they are interrupted by a low buzzing sound—it seems that Clarke has knocked out in Raven’s lap, for the time being. “She never used to be such a lightweight,” she says, cradling Clarke’s head gently. “We used to go ‘til morning.”

“Sorry,” Lexa smiles. “Should I go?”

“Nah—stay for the rest of your cig,” Raven says. “I’m sure Clarke won’t mind.”

*

So goes many of Lexa’s Friday nights—often, she runs into Clarke at the elevators, and they go back out to get drinks and cigarettes from the convenience store a couple of streets over.

“I’m cooking curry tonight,” says Clarke, struggling briefly with her door as Lexa watched, her arms filled with grocery bags. “That okay with you?”

“Curry sounds fine.” It’s out so automatically that Lexa doesn’t even have time to examine her own statement; she’d been shrugging it off repeatedly, in fact. _What’s so bad about having friends who cook for you?_ Besides, Lexa pitches in sometimes, so it’s all good. “What about Raven?”

“Raven _loves_ curry,” Clarke replies, tossing her keys onto the table by the door, slipping out of her sneakers effortlessly. “Beers in the fridge, please?”

Lexa nods, hugging the bags closer to her chest as she follows Clarke into the kitchen. Clarke goes ahead and opens the fridge for her before hauling herself up onto the kitchen island, watching Lexa at work.

It’s an easy sort of co-existence; after a while, Lexa even gets comfortable shedding her uniform in their living room and draping it upon the back of a chair. Raven likes calling her shirts “cop tops” and despite many initial protests, in the end Lexa lets her keep the term. “It’s sexy, right?” Raven keeps telling Clarke. Clarke mostly says nothing and just smiles.

Clarke’s a good cook—hell, Clarke’s cooking is _fantastic,_ and Lexa’s thankful she gets to sit in on a Clarke-made dinner once in a while. Nights like that often end with a couple of rounds of beer and cigarettes by the open window, now their semi-permanent hangout spot in the house.

Raven goads Clarke to get her guitar—something Clarke only successfully declines until her third beer. After that, Clarke gets up on unsteady knees and heads into her bedroom. “Reyes, you’re going to embarrass me in front of a police officer,” she warns.

Clarke doesn’t embarrass herself, of course; damn, Clarke is _good_ with it, and Lexa tries not to look too smitten. “Don’t laugh,” Clarke says before beginning, and Lexa pauses mid-sip.

Clarke starts singing about a girl who got away, her voice deep and rough along the edges, and when Lexa looks at Raven, she feels her gut sink a little. _Shit,_ Lexa thinks, tugging at the collar of her undershirt; now the room feels a bit too crowded, and Lexa takes a long drag from her cigarette that she almost burns it down to the filter.

The ashes fall when Raven starts applauding from her corner, eyeing Lexa with slight smirk on her lips and a glint of mischief to boot. Lexa chalks it up to the drinks and the smoke. _Of course, it’s just the alcohol._

“Stunning as always babe,” says Raven, getting up to plant a sloppy kiss on Clarke’s cheek. “Even the _Commander’s_ speechless.” She nudges Lexa’s knee as she walks over to crush her cigarette into the ashtray just past Lexa’s lap. “Say something, Lexa.”

“I—well,” Lexa stutters, reaching for her cigarettes in kind, like a crutch. “I’ve heard it before—through the window I mean—but _damn._ You’re good, Clarke. Really, really good.”

“You’re being polite,” Clarke counters, picking up her own drink. “But thank you.”

Lexa spends the rest of the night watching; Clarke finishes her drink and keeps playing, and when Raven reaches the bottom of her fourth beer, she starts singing along as well. Her voice, unlike Clarke’s, is velvety smooth; she taps her boot to a beat that Lexa finds hypnotizing, and by the sixth round, Lexa finds herself humming along to a song she does not even know.

“I think the Commander’s got a melody,” Raven slurs, hand warm on Lexa’s knee. “Got something for us in there, chief?” she asks, her half-lidded stare almost challenging Lexa.

Lexa doesn’t mean to be turned on; of course, she doesn’t. She’s sitting in the living room of a couple of relatively new friends who live _next door_ to her apartment—she knows this is _not_ an appropriate response, not at all. _It’s the alcohol, Lexa._ She even mentions her own name inside her head, like that would make her a bit more lucid. _Shake it off._

Lexa blinks, her eyes refocusing on Raven. “Hey chief,” she says again, still with that half-drunk dopey smile on her face; her grip on Lexa’s knee tightening slightly. “Where’d you go just now? Stay with us.”

“ _Rae_.” It’s Clarke now speaking, calling out to Raven in a tone Lexa’s never heard before—drunk and affectionate and all too warm. “Babe, you’re scaring her.”

“I am _what_?” Raven asks back, amused. And then, turning back to Lexa: “Are we?”

When Lexa opens her mouth, the unlit cigarette she’s forgotten about falls onto her lap. This time, Clarke laughs louder. _Well, this is some embarrassing shit._ “Are you what?” asks Lexa back, swallowing hard and stalling.

“Scaring you,” Clarke completes, leaning over to pick up the cigarette and light it for herself. “Because we’re not trying to, you know.”

“She knows,” Raven chimes in, lighting up in kind. She takes a few puffs before offering it to Lexa, hand unsteady. “Right, chief?”

 _Fuck it._ Lexa leans in, meeting Raven’s fingers and closing her eyes at the feel of those fingertips against her lips. When she opens them, Raven’s already getting up and perching herself upon Lexa’s knee. _Shit. Now what?_

“ _Raven._ ” Clarke’s tone is lazy but not disapproving; Raven simply rearranges herself on Lexa’s lap in response. Lexa sits very still as she takes a slow drag from the cigarette between Raven’s fingers; surprisingly, Raven feels like she weighs almost nothing, warm as she is upon Lexa’s thighs.

“I don’t know about you, Clarke,” Raven says, blowing a thin column of smoke at her. “But this seems very comfortable.”

Clarke just raises her brow, sitting back; Lexa blinks and tries to get the smoke out of her eyes. “Gloating’s not very nice,” says Clarke. She’s got her beer perched on her bare knee, and the sight of it makes Lexa shiver, somewhat. “You all right there, Lex?”

Lexa blinks. Twice. “Sure,” she says, her hand carelessly draped upon Raven’s knee in kind. “You?”

“I’m good.”

“Yeah,” Lexa finds herself saying, sinking back into her seat; Raven sinks right with her, bringing the cigarette back to Lexa’s lips for good measure. Lexa inhales deeply before sighing, tipping her head back against the wall. Her vision has started getting cloudy, at best—must be the smoke; must be the beer.

She barely feels it when Raven sneaks an arm right behind her neck. “Still with us, chief?”

Lexa’s head feels heavy; it was a mistake to close her eyes. “I think I should get going.”

“Game over, huh?” Raven plants a playful peck upon Lexa’s jaw before sliding out of her lap and pulling her up carefully. “Come on then, off you go.”

Lexa stretches and smiles, eyeing Clarke. “Thanks for dinner, Clarke,” she says, before heading for the door. Clarke just smiles back, cigarette in her hand, nodding as Raven ushers her out with a warm hand on the small of her back.

Lexa is already taking her boots off in the middle of her own living room when she’s jolted by a knock on the door. In her drunken state, it’s quite a challenge to put her boots back on, so she takes a moment before she manages to answer it.

“Hey.” It’s Clarke, holding Lexa’s uniform in her hand. _Shit, I’d forgotten all about that._ “You left this.”

“Oh.” Lexa hangs her head, embarrassed. “Sorry. I was—I _am—_ a bit tipsy. My apologies.” Her hands brush against Clarke’s when she receives it, and she hopes the blush on her face could be easily attributed to all the drinks they’ve had.

“I’m sorry. About Raven, earlier. If you were offended, or—”

“No!” Lexa interrupts. She’s no spoil sport, after all. And then, realizing how she’d interrupted whatever Clarke was saying, Lexa softens her voice. “No, I mean. That wasn’t—I’m game. It’s just—we’re drunk, and drunk people get— _friendly,_ I suppose.”

“Not _too_ friendly, I hope?” Clarke says. She’s smiling as she leans against the wall next to Lexa’s door. “Just checking.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m glad.”

A long pause. Lexa considers inviting her in, but what for? She has nothing to offer—not even a Coke. _What a bore,_ she scolds herself. _Stock up next time for emergencies, will you?_ “Would that be all, Clarke?” she asks instead.

_Jesus, Lexa. Can you sound any more uninterested?_

There’s a flicker of hesitation in Clarke’s eye as she shifts, adjusting herself against Lexa’s wall. “You know what,” she says finally, pushing off it. “There _is_ something.”

Lexa doesn’t quite catch it as it happens, but suddenly Clarke is on her, grabbing at her shirt and tugging her closer, hand reaching up for her face. _What’s going on?_ The question barely registers just as Clarke’s lips press against hers, hot and wet.

 _Fuck._ Lexa’s brain freezes for a second before her responses kick in. _So this is happening._ Clarke tastes like cigarettes and alcohol, and Lexa feels herself getting pinned against the wall—her room’s wall—and Clarke’s hand, just like that, is warm under her shirt.

 _What is happening?_ Well, Lexa _knows,_ technically, what it is—Clarke is making out with her _right inside her room_ , and Lexa’s finger is already hooked into one of Clarke’s belt loops. _This is a disaster_. Lexa hears the door close behind them, and thinks: _Fuck it._

“ _Clarke,_ ” she finally manages, coming up for air. “What’s going on?”

That seems to shake some sense into Clarke for the moment, her eyes coming to focus in the dark. “Hi,” she says finally, licking at her lips. “Sorry, I just. I’ve been wanting to do that.”

“I see,” says Lexa, catching her breath. “Thanks. I guess.” To Lexa’s half-horror, Clarke _actually_ starts giggling. _What the fuck._ “You’re laughing,” Lexa notes, feeling a laugh bloom inside her chest in kind.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says. “It’s just. Never mind.”

“It’s horrible isn’t it?”

“ _No,_ of course—that’s _not_ what that meant, jeez,” Clarke says, pulling Lexa back in again, gently this time, as if to make a tender point. Their lips part softly, like Clarke wants to make sure she isn’t misunderstood. “See? Not what I meant.”

Lexa cannot feel her knees. _At all._ “Yeah. I suppose,” she just says, eyes still closed. “Do I say thank you, or.”

Clarke swats at her playfully. “You say ‘good night’,” Clarke suggests. “How’s that?”

“Okay then.”

“Good night, Lexa.”

Lexa breathes in, opening the door for her. “Good night, Clarke.”

 


	3. bite that tattoo on your shoulder

 

 

Some nights, they spend at Lexa’s.

Clarke still cooks, of course; Lexa wouldn’t even try to suggest otherwise. “What did you girls even do _before_ me?” Clarke jokes, gesturing at Lexa to hand her the salt from the other end of the counter.

“I got by with takeaway,” says Lexa, sliding in right behind Clarke, laughing as she presses a kiss against Clarke’s temple. “I don’t miss my own cooking, either.”

“Then maybe you should watch and learn something,” says Clarke, nudging Lexa away with her hip. “Instead of distracting me.”

“You don’t want to distract Clarke,” says Raven from the living room. She’s sitting in Lexa’s couch, browsing through old newspapers. “It fucks up the dish. Learned that the hard way.”

“Sorry,” Lexa concedes, putting her hands up as if in surrender as she backs away from Clarke and the stove and leans against the sink across. “Need anything else?”

“Go sit with Raven,” says Clarke, not even looking up from her pan. “And _behave_ yourselves.”

Raven just laughs louder.

*

The kiss changes nothing, though perhaps, it changes everything; Lexa can’t make up her mind about how _exactly_ to think about it, so she doesn’t.

But sometimes she can’t help but wonder, how it’s all supposed to work—Is it a game? Is it meaningless?

“You’re zoning out on me again, chief.” Raven breaks into her thoughts by swinging her leg upon Lexa’s lap and bopping Lexa’s head gently with a rolled up newspaper page. “What’s up?”

Lexa sighs. “Sorry,” she says, wrapping a hand around Raven’s ankle gently. “It’s nothing. I’m probably just hungry.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.” Lexa starts kneading absently at Raven’s ankle just as she slips a cigarette from Lexa’s pack on the table.

“Shit,” Raven groans as she lights up. “Your _hands_.”

“You’re welcome.” Lexa grins as Raven stretches, filling the living room with smoke as she sighs to the ceiling. It takes all of Lexa not to make a corresponding sound at the feel of Raven moving under her grip—sometimes, it crosses Lexa’s mind, too, what it must be like to kiss her. This time is one of those times.

“You fucks,” Clarke calls from the kitchen. “I can _hear_ you from here, Jesus.”

When Raven laughs, it’s a low, rumbling sound; it pours out of her mouth like honey, hanging low from the ceiling with the smoke. Lexa clears her throat and Raven sits up slowly, offering the halfway done cigarette to Lexa’s lips.

 _Well, why not?_ Lexa inhales and holds it in her chest. 

It quiets down in the kitchen after a moment or two, and Lexa exhales just as Clarke emerges from it, wiping her hands in a dish towel. “Dinner?” she asks, raising her brow at them with a slight smirk. “You coming, or not?”

Raven reaches over for the ashtray and crushes their cigarette against it, pushing herself off the couch afterwards. “Yes ma’am,” she just says, tugging Lexa with her by the waistband of her shorts.

*

Later, when dinner’s done, Lexa does the dishes side by side with Raven, their shoulders touching. Raven likes water chores more than anything—laundry, car wash, dishes. If they had pets, she’d probably enjoy bathing them.

Lexa doesn’t mind doing the dishes alone but Raven insists on joining her. She doesn’t mind the company either; she enjoys _theirs_ , immensely. Over dinner, they talked mostly about Clarke’s latest wedding and Raven’s latest prototype; about Raven’s plans for her thesis, and Clarke’s upcoming client presentation. Sitting with them like this really is different from the team lunches that Lexa’s used to—it’s nice, taking a break from all that _shooting_ and what-not.

“ _Commander,_ ” Raven says, clearing her throat. She’d zoned out _again,_ it’s embarrassing. “I said: I got this, get Clarke some beer.”

 _Oh._ She hadn’t realized Clarke had been calling out for it. “Sorry,” she says, blinking. “Again.”

Under the water, Raven touches her hand briefly, before putting stray suds on her nose. “ _Go._ ” Lexa lets out a small undignified sound before splashing Raven with dishwater in retaliation.

When Lexa finally hands Clarke her beer, her shirt’s half-drenched. Clarke laughs. “Were you washing the dishes or doing the laundry?” Clarke asks, grinning as she takes a sip.

Lexa just laughs, shaking her head as she ducks into her bedroom and puts on a dry wife-beater instead.

When she gets back to the living room, Raven’s done with the dishes and is already right beside Clarke on the couch. They look up at the same time; Raven lets out a low whistle.

“Where’s the gun show?” Raven asks, shifting in her seat like she’s making room. Lexa just rolls her eyes. “Come here.” 

Picking up her beer bottle, Lexa slips into the space between Clarke and Raven. Clarke lets out a little grunt as she refuses to budge, so Lexa lands partway on her thigh. “Ow,” Clarke groans softly, whacking Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa laughs.

“Hey chief,” says Raven from her other side. “You’ve got some nice ink.”

“Thanks,” Lexa replies, looking at Raven over her shoulder, only to find Raven staring intently at the tattoo that runs down her arm. “It’s okay to touch, you know.”

The first touch is too gentle that it almost tickles, and Lexa finds herself flexing absently in response. Raven gasps softly before letting out a low laugh. “Now you’re just showing off.”

“It fucking _tickles,_ ” says Lexa, feeling Clarke lean closer from the other end to also look. “It’s not going anywhere guys, if you’d just—”

“Lemme see,” says Clarke, following Raven’s fingers with her own. _Jesus fuck,_ Lexa looks up, trying to steady her eyes at a random spot on her ceiling; trying to keep breathing. _How do I stop shivering?_

“Is it customary to ask about the meaning of these things, or.” When Lexa looks back at Clarke, her face is already too close, and Lexa could smell the cigarette smoke off her skin and the mint gum she’s been chewing.

“It’s a boring story,” Lexa whispers, hissing at the feel of Raven scratching lightly along the lines. “I got them when I was young.”

“How young?” Raven asks, lips ghosting against Lexa’s shoulder. “Eighteen, maybe?”

Lexa inhales. “Nineteen,” she says, still looking at Clarke’s face. “Close enough.”

“What about this?” asks Clarke, thumbing the inside of Lexa’s wrist, where she has a row of piano keys drawn across her pulse.

“Or this?” Raven asks, tracing her shoulder blades so _lightly_ it makes Lexa arch into the touch. _God damn it._ “Damn, when do we get to see the entire back art, chief?”

Lexa smiles as Clarke inches closer. “Play your cards right, who knows?”

Raven groans, just as Clarke leans in to kiss Lexa’s jaw. “Stop teasing her,” Clarke murmurs against the skin. “She gets so _frustrated._ ”

“Really?”

“Really.” Clarke pushes Lexa off her lap and scoots to the far end of the couch, retrieving her beer from the table and taking a long swig. Lexa arches her brow at her, like she’s asking, _Thirsty?_ Clarke smirks right back, like she sees Lexa’s question on her face anyhow.

She feels Raven sit back, her hand lifting from Lexa’s arm, and Lexa takes it as permission to make a move for the pack of cigarettes on the table. Raven sighs, low and long, as Lexa lights up.

“Goddamn it girl,” says Raven, just as Lexa hands her the pack and the lighter. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Lexa takes a drag before sinking down to the floor, her back against the couch. “Damn right,” she just says, blowing smoke to the ceiling.

*

In the morning, Lexa wakes in a full bed, tangled amongst Raven and Clarke’s limbs. It’s all too warm—they’d kept their clothes on, though Clarke has a careless hand just under Lexa’s shirt and right on the skin of her stomach. Lexa tries not to groan at the feel of it; Clarke’s hand is _hot,_ just like Raven’s breath against the back of her neck.

 _How the fuck did we get here,_ Lexa wonders, trying to keep very, very still. Judging from the half-light trickling through her blinds, it must still be early. She can’t even remember what time they slept last night.

_Or how we got from couch to bed, for that matter._

Clarke starts waking first. Lexa watches with half an eye open as Clarke stretches and stirs, her hand pressing into Lexa harder. Lexa breathes in and flexes.

“ _Shit_.” Clarke curses hoarsely, and Lexa can’t help the sleepy smile that crosses her face. “Sorry. Morning.”

“Morning,” mumbles Lexa back.

Clarke slips her hand from under Lexa’s shirt slowly, breathing in as Lexa finally relaxes. “Sorry,” Clarke says again, opening her eyes.

“No, don’t be—it’s fine.”

“Is Raven—”

“Still asleep, I think,” Lexa says with a shrug.

Clarke laughs, soft and sleepy, and Lexa has to close her eyes at the sound—as if she could keep Clarke away at this point just by that small, useless gesture. Instead, Clarke shifts closer, surrounding Lexa further. Lexa feels the mattress shift under them.

 _Goddamn it._ She feels Clarke brush against her arm as she presses closer, and then _Raven_ also begins waking, stretching languorously against Lexa after Clarke nudges her awake.

“Morning, ladies,” Raven greets casually. Like she wakes every day in bed with two other women; like she wakes every day pressed up against someone like _this_. “Anybody want a cup of coffee?”

“ _Please,_ ” says Clarke, propping her head up on an elbow. Her hair falls down her shoulder and frames her face in this light just _so,_ and Lexa tries not to stare.

“All right,” Raven says, disentangling herself from their heap. “Any requests, chief?”

 _What?_ “No, I—it’s my kitchen, I should—”

“Oh come on,” Raven smiles, planting a small kiss on Lexa’s shoulder before reaching over to tuck Clarke’s hair behind an ear. “ _Stay._ ”

“Mornings are Raven’s specialty,” Clarke says, sinking back down into the mattress. “You should let her do her thing.”

“Her thing,” Lexa repeats.

“Yeah,” Raven says, slipping out of bed. “ _My thing._ ”

 


	4. take my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, guys. :) Title is from Donora.

 

 

Anya thinks it’s funny; of course, she does. “You’re living beside two gorgeous women, both of whom are actually  _ into  _ you, and you haven’t—”

Lexa groans, raising her hand to silence her. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” says Anya, still chuckling. Lexa hates it when Anya’s right, and she’s never been  _ this  _ right before; it kind of makes Lexa’s jaw ache. “Either you get some or—”

“Ahn,  _ please. _ ” Lexa shakes her head as she takes another bite into her sandwich—these long-haul stakeouts always make her hungry. “We’re great friends.”

“I bet Raven is  _ great _ in bed—”

“Jesus  _ Christ,  _ Anya.” 

Anya laughs, choking on her coffee lightly. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” When Lexa swats at her arm, a bit of it spills a little on the dashboard, prompting a small, disgruntled yell from Anya’s lips. 

“Sorry,” says Lexa, sounding totally not contrite. “I couldn’t  _ resist _ .”

*

Later, in the middle of scrubbing the coffee off the car, Lexa gets a phone call from Clarke: She and Raven are out drinking with friends, and she’s asking Lexa if she’s off-duty for the night.  

“Yeah, sure,” says Lexa, spying Anya emerge from the station. “Where are you guys at?” Anya approaches her, mouthing,  _ Who’s that?  _ Lexa mouths  _ Clarke  _ back at her, watching as the grin on Anya’s face spreads wider.  

Lexa rolls her eyes. “What? No, it’s—sorry, Anya’s being distracting.” Clarke laughs and Lexa turns away in an effort to hide her blush. Anya simply slides in right next to her, leaning against the car, their shoulders touching.

“Clarke up to something?” asks Anya after Lexa ends the call and pockets her phone. 

“Drinks and karaoke,” says Lexa, lighting a cigarette. “You coming with?”

Anya lets out a bark of a laugh, nudging Lexa’s shoulder. “Like fuck I am.”  

*

The place is already in full swing by the time Lexa and Anya arrive: There’s a medium-sized crowd huddled around the karaoke machine and a Journey song is playing. Lexa has to squint through the smoke and swiveling lights to see who’s holding the microphone; it’s Raven. 

Lexa pushes her hands deeper into her pockets as she takes in the sight while she’s glued by the doorway. “Damn it Anya,” she mutters. “You’re supposed to talk me out of these things.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” asks Anya, pushing Lexa forward playfully. “Who’s the chick with the mic?”

When Lexa looks again, Raven has already perched herself on a corner of the pool table in the middle and is already leading the crowd in singing through the end of “Faithfully”, all their beer bottles in the air. “That’s… Raven,” she says, swallowing hard. Raven is wearing that red tank top that she’d bought with Clarke the other day; Lexa knows this because Raven had changed into it right in her living room, if only to ask her what she thought about it.

Lexa thinks it fits her very, very well. 

“Oh, so  _ this  _ is Raven,” says Anya. “Where’s Clarke?”

Of course, Clarke’s not too far away; Lexa barely has time to recover from Raven’s top when she sees Clarke by the wall, singing out loud while clutching a cue stick close, wearing those criminally short shorts she’d never even seen before. 

“Oh wait,” Anya says. “I think I’ve found her—girl by the wall, legs for days?”

“You’re  _ supposed  _ to talk me out of these things,” says Lexa through gritted teeth. It’s going to be a long night, and she hasn’t even had a drink just yet. 

Anya just laughs, draping an arm around Lexa’s shoulder casually and dragging her toward the group. “Let’s get this party started.”

*

“I don’t sing,” is how Lexa refuses the first few rounds, and to her pleasant surprise, Clarke even helps her, shooing away friends who insist, her laugh easy and light. She touches Lexa all night – a warm hand on an arm, or a casual tap on the shoulder, or a nudge upon the small of her back every so often, like she’s asking if Lexa’s okay. 

_ I’m fine,  _ Lexa almost says, every single time.  _ Not like your fingers are burning through my clothing or anything.  _

Clarke and Anya hit it off right away; they slip into a lazy pool game the moment Clarke realizes Anya’s into it, and for the sake of friendship, Lexa takes up a stick herself—perhaps against better advice even, as she knows full well how Anya always practically destroys her every single time.  

When Clarke scores on first break, Lexa feels her stomach plummet.  _ Now this is going to be a demolition on all sides,  _ she thinks, leaning against the wall and nursing her beer as she watches Clarke effortlessly sink the first three balls, chest against the velvet of the pool table. 

Lexa tries not to stare.  _ Shit,  _ she thinks, averting her eyes.  _ That neckline is fucking intentional.  _ When she turns to Anya, she’s smirking right at her with a raised brow, as if saying,  _ I caught you.  _ Lexa downs her beer and holds her stare in protest.  __

Clarke fumbles her fifth ball with a small disappointed shout.  _ Small mercies,  _ Lexa thinks, as Anya laughs and dusts her hands. Clarke hip-checks her playfully before heading over to where Lexa’s standing by the wall. 

“Did you see that?” Clarke asks, chuckling lightly before she takes a sip from her drink. “I missed a wide open shot.” 

“Happens to the best of us,” says Lexa, clinking her bottle with Clarke’s and watching Anya effortlessly make her way through the next couple of balls. Anya moves smoothly, walking around the table like she’s scanning a murder scene, and Lexa can’t help the smirk that stays on her face.

“Your partner always this intense?”

Lexa nods. “You should see her when we’re on duty.”

“I can  _ hear _ you from here,” says Anya from the table, smiling as she lines up her next shot, and Lexa holds her breath as the cue ball touches the 8-ball a tad bit too gently and lands just by the mouth of the corner pocket. “Ah,  _ fuck. _ ”

Lexa laughs, approaching the table. “Happens to the best of us,” she tells Anya as she brushes past her to line up her shot—far too easy, considering where Anya’s last fumble left the cue ball. Lexa hits just hard enough to nudge the 8-ball into the pocket, and Anya lets out a frustrated growl as the cue ball bounces off the railing and rolls up right alongside the remaining ball on the table. 

Lexa pockets the last one without fanfare nor delay, and Anya whistles her approval before giving her a high five.

“Nice shot, chief,” Raven coos, draping an arm around Lexa’s shoulder and planting a messy kiss on her cheek. Lexa laughs, pulling Raven close by the waist as Raven turns her head toward Anya. “Care to introduce us, Lex?” 

Anya smirks, offering her hand for a shake. “Name’s Anya.”

“ _ Hello, _ ” Raven smiles, receiving Anya’s hand. “Lexa has clearly been keeping you from us—”

“I am  _ not, _ ” Lexa interjects. “Besides—I have had no opportunity to introduce  _ any  _ of my friends from the station—”

“Wait— _ what _ ?” Raven loosens her hold around Lexa’s neck slightly, but she stays pressed close into her anyway, pinning Lexa against the pool table. “Captain Cheekbones is from the  _ station _ ?”

Anya laughs, turning to Lexa. “I like her— _ even  _ when she’s not singing,” she says. 

“Oh, you heard that?” 

“Yeah babe, our first round was to your extended Journey medley,” Clarke chimes in, walking over to hand Raven a drink. “Which, by the way—was  _ fantastic. _ ”

Raven curtsies as Anya claps for her. “Thank you,” she says. “Though I am sad you started playing without me.”

“You play?”

Raven turns to Anya with a raised brow, like she’s been challenged. “Take me to your leader,” she says in a mock stern voice. “I’ll show you how I  _ play. _ ”

*

Raven takes on Lexa first, by virtue of Lexa being the winner of the previous round, despite Lexa’s initial protests. “I sank the last two balls by complete chance,” she tells Raven, all too aware that Anya and Clarke are currently making bets behind her. 

“Come on now, chief. You’re not afraid of me, are you?” Raven winks at her before letting her strike first, leaning back against the wall across with her drink in one hand, her cue stick in the other.

Lexa tries not to stare at the skin of Raven’s hip that’s exposed by her criminally low jeans before shooting. The balls scatter with a chorus of clicks before one of them sinks into the corner pocket. Lexa heaves a sigh of relief. “Lucky,” she murmurs, walking around the table with a hand running along the edge. In the corner of her eye she could see Anya and Clarke with their heads together—probably gossiping about her.  _ Damn it, Ahn,  _ Lexa thinks, trying not to be distracted as she lines up her next shots. 

Distraction, apparently, is Raven’s game; she hovers near Lexa playfully, and though she doesn’t get quite close to touch, she definitely gets close enough for Lexa to feel just how warm her presence is. “You trying to distract me, Reyes?” says Lexa, smiling as she makes the next shot smoothly. 

“Is it working?” 

Lexa laughs, leaning against the table and taking a sip from her drink. “Maybe you should try harder,” she says, sticking her tongue out at Raven playfully before nudging her by the shoulder and leaning forward on the table, eyeing her next target. Raven presses up against her, a hand on the small of Lexa’s back. Lexa bites her lip. “You’re not playing fair.”

“You asked me for  _ harder, _ ” says Raven, leaning closer still. Like this, Lexa can feel Raven breathing warmly upon her cheek.  _ She’s close enough to kiss,  _ Lexa thinks, trying to keep facing forward. “You’re taking a long time with this shot, chief.”

“Well,” says Lexa, swallowing hard and stalling. “I’m trying not to miss.”

“Good luck with that,” Raven says, closing the gap and pressing her lips against Lexa’s cheek, catching the corner of her mouth. Had Lexa turned her head that would have been a different story – a  _ very  _ different story. 

Lexa misses; of course, she does. Raven lets out a little yelp in celebration as Lexa breathes out a frustrated,  _ Shit.  _ By the wall, Clarke and Anya are laughing to themselves, high-fiving each other like they had both bet  _ against  _ Lexa.  _ Was that even possible?  _ Lexa picks her beer back up from the corner of the table before walking over toward Clarke. 

“That was the  _ oldest  _ trick in the playbook,” says Anya, clinking her bottle with Lexa’s in greeting. “Though damn, I do  _ not  _ blame you at all for falling for it.”

Lexa shrugs, drinking from her beer and following Anya’s eye; it leads right to Raven, who is currently bent over the table, the hem of her shirt riding up. 

“Homegirl sure knows how to work a top,” says Clarke from beside her. Lexa keeps drinking and says nothing as she nods. 

Raven plays like she’s setting up explosives: Precise, focused and intense. She walks around and checks every angle before going in for the kill – every single time. Lexa swallows hard when Raven makes a particularly difficult shot that requires her to stretch alongside the edge of the table; even Clarke holds her breath. 

“Damn,” says Anya. “That shot was close to impossible.”

“Raven’s all about what’s impossible,” Clarke says. “I’ve been telling her to put that on a shirt.”

“This shirt is just fine,” Lexa says.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Of course, it is.”

Raven clears the table and Anya leads the applause, to which Raven responds with a little bow. “Thank you, thank you,” she says, walking up to Clarke to wrap an arm around her waist. And then, to Lexa: “Good game, chief.”

“I hardly played,” says Lexa. “What do I owe you?” It’s a question that Lexa has asked often, at the end of similar games; it’s out like  _ routine,  _ and it doesn’t even hit Lexa immediately, just how  _ loaded  _ the question is, now that it’s Raven she’s asking—not until Anya starts laughing; not until Raven winks at her just like that. 

_ Shit.  _

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Raven says, smiling as she turns to Clarke. “Won’t she babe?”

Clarke nods; something about her all-too-cheerful agreement has Lexa’s stomach in knots. “She always does,” she says, eyeing Lexa with a brow raised. “Right, Lex?”

_ Right.  _ Lexa opens her mouth but no sound comes out, and Anya elbows her to induce a cough. “Of course,” she says instead, clearing her throat. “Anything you want.”

“Careful with  _ anything _ ,” Raven warns playfully, before turning to Anya with a naughty smile. “So. Anyone up for Round two?”

*


	5. good girls

 

“No offense to Anya’s prowess, but I think Raven’s in it to win it, if you know what I’m saying,” says Clarke, first thing. They are standing by the wall, listening to someone murder Queen on karaoke, while watching Raven and Anya size each other up as they stand on opposite sides of the pool table.

“I won’t be so quick to dismiss Anya,” Lexa replies. “You’ve never seen her play one-on-one.” They’re splitting a bottle of beer because neither of them want to miss the start of the game, so Lexa takes a small sip before handing it over to Clarke. 

“Wanna make a bet to back your partner up?” asks Clarke, eyeing her sideways as she drinks. Lexa tries not to stare at Clarke’s lashes, or the way her lips curve around the mouth of the bottle. 

“I’ve been losing bets all night,” Lexa rues. “I’m pretty much ready to  _ win _ one.”

“Hah.” Clarke extends a hand and they shake on it, Lexa’s hand lingering.  _ It’s the alcohol,  _ she just thinks, blinking. “Stakes?”

“More drinks?” says Lexa, choosing her words carefully. Clarke sticks her tongue out in faux disapproval. “Unless of course you have a better idea?”

“Your tattoos,” says Clarke, after a moment’s consideration. 

“What do you mean, my tattoos?”

“If Raven wins, you’ll show us the entire back piece.”

Lexa feels her gut sink a little, as excitement and nerves start mixing in the pit of her stomach. She glances over at Anya, who’s now laughing at something Raven said.  _ Great. Anya’s flirting. I’m doomed.  _

“Lex?”

Lexa blinks.  _ Fuck it, right?  _ “Sure.” 

“Is that a yes? 

Lexa drains their drink, swallowing hard. “Doesn’t matter,” she bluffs. “Anya’s winning this, I’m certain.”

Clarke gives her a look before laughing out loud and cheering Raven on. “Go get her, Rae!” Clarke yells. “Got us a sweet reward if you do!”

Raven turns her head at that, grinning. “Oh babe,” she just says. “I got you, don’t worry.”

*

Anya loses; of course, she does. She throws the game as early as the third or fourth ball, and Lexa lets out a frustrated yell at the obvious sabotage as Clarke laughs in her ear.

“This isn’t  _ fair, _ ” Lexa mutters, leaning back against the wall and pouting, arms crossed. 

Clarke nudges her by the hip, biting at her shoulder playfully. “What isn’t?” she asks. “You’re watching the same game I am.”

By the table, Anya lets out an exaggerated sigh, though she’s mainly doing it for show—this much is apparent as Anya glances over at Lexa with a slow-forming grin.  _ It’s a motherfucking setup,  _ Lexa thinks, rolling her eyes. 

Raven pockets the nine-ball smoothly, after which she comes around to lazily drape an arm around Anya’s shoulder in commiseration, her grin so wide it nearly splits her face. Clarke starts clapping and hooting and Raven plants a messy kiss on Anya’s cheekbone before approaching.

“So,” Raven begins, hands, on her hips. “What did we win?” 

Lexa’s mouth goes dry at the thorough top-to-bottom look Raven gives her.  _ Fuck,  _ she almost says.  _ You know exactly what, don’t you? _


	6. such great heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa loses the bet, but kind of wins. Kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, long time :) Sorry for the long wait. I hope this makes up for it. Enjoy!

 

“Well,” Clarke begins, toying with the hem of Lexa’s top as she leans closer. “Do I spoil the surprise now or…”

“ _Jesus,_ girls—get a room,” Anya interjects, giving Lexa’s back a single hard thump. “And _you’re welcome._ ”

“ _Ahn,_ ” Lexa manages, coughing. “I’ll—”

“—thank me properly tomorrow. Or the day after, whenever you’re already walking right, or something.”

Lexa opens her mouth to say something— _what the ever-loving fuck?—_ but nothing comes out of her mouth, so Anya just laughs, turning to the girls standing beside her.

“Take it easy on the poor girl,” says Anya. And then, turning to Raven: “ _You_ got mean game.”

“So do you, Cap,” Raven replies. “But I bet you went easy on me on purpose.”

Anya shrugs. “Nah, you were tough, all right,” she says. “But I’m calling a rematch sometime, okay.”

“Definitely,” Raven says, fishing Anya’s phone from her pocket and typing in her number. “ _Call_ me.”

 _*You* get a room,_ Lexa just thinks, clearing her throat.  “So.”

“I’m going home,” Anya declares. “Defeated and downtrodden—”

“ _Jesus,_ Ahn—”

“ _And_ just a bit drunk. Which is a shame.” She rolls her eyes melodramatically toward Raven and Clarke’s direction, who gasp in mock offense. “The two of you owe me drinks next time.”

“We’ll be sure to get you drunk next time,” says Clarke. “ _Promise._ ” Lexa feels a hand at the small of her back—both a comforting gesture and a hint of the rest to come. When she turns her head, she sees Raven stepping closer, and just like that she’s all too warm and _surrounded_.

All things considered, it isn’t a bad place to be, not at all.

They watch in quiet as Anya turns the corner and disappears. Lexa is still flanked on both sides by the tipsy duo, so she takes it upon herself to be the one to flag a cab. They wrap around her as she moves closer to the curb, giggling in her ear throughout, arms entangled.

 _Jesus, what a spectacle we must be making,_ Lexa thinks, scanning the deserted street they’re on, undisturbed save for the solitary cab that manages to drive by. Lexa flags it and deposits her two companions first, still whispering to each other and intermittently trying to quiet each other’s giggling.  

“Sorry,” Clarke murmurs to Lexa as she clambers into the backseat and closes the door. “Are you all right?”

Lexa blinks, trying to process the question. Clarke’s face hovers too closely, and even in the dark Lexa could see the glint of mischief in Clarke’s eye. “Yeah,” Lexa manages eventually, swallowing hard. And then, to Raven: “How about you? You all right there?”

“Yeah, okay,” says Raven, smiling lazily at her. The sight of the passing streetlights playing across Raven’s face sends a shiver down Lexa’s spine. Raven must have caught it, because she reaches over to trace a slow line from Lexa’s shoulder down to her wrist. “ _Relax._ You’re all tense and flexed, what’s up with that?”

“She’s been losing all night, Rae—cut the girl some slack,” Clarke interjects, and Raven laughs loudly as the cab shakes past a pothole.

“Really?” Raven replies. “ _This_ is losing?”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “Are you or are you not collecting on a bet later?” she asks, unable to keep a straight face. It’s Clarke’s turn to laugh out loud this time.

“We are,” she says readily, holding onto Lexa by the wrist, turning it over gently, and rubbing lightly on her tattoo there, as if to remind her of what’s at stake. Lexa can’t help but swallow hard at the feel of it.

“What exactly are you collecting?”

Clarke yawns, stretching languidly and rubbing against Lexa like a cat ready for a nap. “It’s up to Rae,” she says. “I’m just here for the rest of the show.”

“The _show,_ ” Lexa repeats. _Is it a threat? Is it a promise?_ “I don’t follow.”

“Don’t worry about it so much chief,” says Raven, just as their cab slows down to a stop in front of their building finally. “We’ll lead.”

They stumble out after Lexa pays their driver, disentangling temporarily just so they could negotiate the stairs step-by-step, hand-in-hand. When they get to Lexa’s door, she casts the both of them a questioning look, like she’s asking, _What now?_ Raven grins, nudging at her shoulder and pushing her onward.

“Keep walking,” says Clarke, brushing her lips against the back of Lexa’s shoulder briefly.

 _Ah shit._ Lexa keeps moving despite the warmth of Clarke behind her, and the feel of Raven’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

Their apartment still looks the way they left it, or so Lexa remembers: Raven’s jacket is still on the back of the couch, along with Clarke’s hoodie, and the beer bottles from a couple of nights ago are still in the sink, untouched. Lexa smiles at the sight.

“Stay for a beer and a cig?” says Raven, walking over to the window to open it. Clarke settles into the couch and tucks her leg under her, patting the space beside her and beckoning Lexa to come.

Lexa shrugs as she approaches. “Sure thing,” she says, reaching for Raven’s pack and sliding in beside Clarke. “Got a light?”

“It’s in my pocket,” says Clarke, refusing to budge. And then, giving Lexa a look: “Yeah, that means you have to fish it out.”

Lexa bites her lip and tilts her head. “Seriously, Clarke?”

“Yeah,” says Clarke, arching for effect. “It’s… there. Somewhere.”

 _Fine._ Lexa snakes her hand around Clarke’s hips and fishes for her lighter slowly, careful not to trigger Clarke’s ticklishness.

“That’d be _faaar_ easier had you just asked for _my_ lighter,” Raven jokes from the window, lighting up herself.

“Don’t spoil my fun, Rae,” says Clarke. Raven just sticks her tongue out at her in response.

By the time Lexa manages to light her cigarette, Raven is already halfway into hers. Lexa is still on the couch, with Clarke’s legs across her lap. She’s drumming her fingers along Clarke’s thigh, humming absently a tune she’d probably picked up from karaoke. It’s a warm, lazy night, even with the windows open. The night is quiet, save for the occasional car driving past or the intermittent sirens from a distance.

At some point, Raven stands to go into the kitchen, and when she gets back she’s handing out beers, which they all proceed to drink wordlessly. There’s something electric and heavy about the silence; it isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Lexa could _feel_ it, like an additional companion in the living room.

“So,” Lexa says after a while, breaking the silence herself. “What now?” She tugs at her shirt, just enough for it to part from the edge of her jeans, showing a little skin.

There’s an audible gasp that shoots past the room; it’s out of Raven’s lips just like that, and Lexa can’t help the grin that forms on her face.

“Now you’re being smug,” Clarke says, swatting at her playfully. “But yeah. I get it.”

“You do, huh,” Lexa just says, trying to ignore how Clarke is already lightly scratching at the skin under her shirt. “ _Patience,_ Clarke.”

Raven pouts, pushing herself off the window sill and slipping into the couch beside Lexa. “No fair,” she says, skimming her hand up Clarke’s leg in kind and scratching at her knee lightly. Clarke giggles, tickled. “ _Hands off—_ meantime,” Raven says, tugging at Clarke’s wrist.   

Lexa has to laugh. _It’s like asking kids in a kindergarten playground to behave and sit still,_ she just thinks, watching amusedly as Clarke folds into herself, all tucked-away, buzzed-soft, compliant.

“How about this—” Lexa begins, standing up and extricating herself from their heap. “I have a challenge for the two of you.”

She turns away, stretching; the move hikes her shirt up slowly, exposing her lower back. The room grows so quiet; perhaps they have stopped breathing altogether, waiting for the rest of it.

“Look but don’t touch,” says Lexa again, seeing that she’s the only person in the room who could muster any form of speech.

Raven groans as Lexa takes her shirt off and drapes it on the back of a chair.

There’s a long breathless pause before Clarke decides to finally break it. “Sounds like a good challenge—doesn’t it, Rae?” she says. In response, Lexa gathers her hair, looks over her shoulder, and winks right at her.

Lexa watches as Raven stands to approach, leaving the couch to scrutinize Lexa’s back tattoos more closely. “I’m trying so hard to be patient, babe—”

Lexa stills at the feel of Raven’s hand fiddling with the hem of her jeans, only to have Clarke swat at it. “Come on, Rae,” Clarke chides her. “ _Hands off._ ”

“Sorry.” And then, “Who would have thought you were a space geek, chief?”

Lexa smiles, remembering the day she’d gotten them. “Always have been,” she just says. “Used to spend nights staring at the stars when I was younger.”

“Used to want to be an astronaut,” says Clarke. At this point, they’re now all standing in the middle of the living room, with Raven and Clarke orbiting Lexa like two satellites drawn to a single, seductive focal point.

“How’d that go for you?” asks Lexa, smiling.

“Ended up drawing outer space in my murals instead, but I don’t mind,” says Clarke, and Lexa can feel her warm breath against her skin as she hovers even closer. “Meanwhile, Captain Zero-G over here—”

“I was about to say of the three of us, I’m the one most likely to drive a space pod through the atmosphere, just so you know,” says Raven. And then: “You have nine elements here, starting from the Sun.”

“And?”

“And, um—”

“And Raven wants to know if Pluto’s still on here somewhere,” Clarke completes for her. “Probably under the waistband of your jeans?”

Lexa nods, swallowing hard. “And if it is?”

“Only one way to find out, yeah?”

“Ah, well.” Lexa unbuttons her jeans, lowers it slightly until it’s barely hanging around her hips. “How’s that?”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Raven mumbles under her breath, unable to stop herself from running a thumb across the bare skin of Lexa’s back, lightly. Lexa tries not to shiver at how gentle the gesture is. “Sorry,” says Raven, pulling her hand back. “I know we said no touching.”

“It’s fine,” says Lexa, slipping both her hands into her pockets. _Afraid of what you might do with them, Vine?_ She shakes the thought off quickly, trying to keep her eyes glued somewhere… _neutral._

Somewhere that is neither Clarke’s face nor Raven’s.

“You sure?” Clarke chimes in, stepping closer. Her hands hover all over Lexa, but just close enough for Lexa to feel how warm she is. “Like—what if I touch _here?_ ”

Clarke’s first contact—a soft thumbmark at the small of her back, right beside her spine—feels molten as it is. _She’s going to burn a hole right through me,_ she thinks, breathing in.

“Or here?” It’s Raven’s turn to ask, tracing upward gingerly up her side, hip to shoulder, before running her palm over the constellations just below her shoulder blade. “Is this okay?”

Lexa swallows hard, softening her knees for balance. “Your hands are _warm,_ ” she says. She doesn’t even realize she’s whispering, until Clarke leans in closer, asking, _You were saying?_

 _I was saying: I feel like I’m on fire._ Instead, Lexa laughs, still soft. After all, she’s half-naked in the middle of their living room, her jeans unbuttoned, and her knees wobbly as she stands between two very attractive women who are _holding_ her like she’s this breakable thing.

 _Well, that’s not exactly untrue, is it,_ she thinks wryly, feeling more fragile by the moment.

Clarke plants a chaste kiss on Lexa’s shoulder. “Well, _you’re_ warm,” she says. Lexa can feel the smile spreading widely on her face. “Tell us your stories.”

“Which stories?”

“Where did these come from? Why are they here?” Lexa can no longer distinguish between their hands. “Who put them here?”

“My tattoo artist, of course,” says Lexa.

“Not what Clarke meant probably—but okay,” says Raven. She now has a finger hooked into one of Lexa’s belt loops, holding her steady.

At this point, Lexa has to remind herself to keep breathing. “All right,” Lexa says, relenting. “I got the Sun first—hurt like a motherfucker—to celebrate my graduation. A singular, all-consuming moment of radiance.” Clarke brushes over it with a fingertip, like she’s marking it as a story told. “Every planet after that—I got after every semester.”

“You _nerd_ ,” says Raven affectionately.

“A bit disappointed you did not get tattoos for ex-girlfriends or something,” Clarke teases. “I mean—you must have racked up quite the line-up.”

Lexa laughs. “That’s ridiculous, Clarke,” she says, shaking her head. And then: “Besides, who says I did not? That’s what Jupiter was for.”

“Oh.” Lexa can’t tell who puts her palm right on it—that massive spot right in the middle of her back. It still feels tender, in some way; she could almost hear Anya saying her name.

“Why Jupiter?” asks Clarke.

Not a ‘who was it?’, nor a ‘what happened?’, but a ‘why?’ query. Lexa takes a moment to collect her thoughts. “We had our storms,” she explains, leaning into Clarke’s touch. “And you know how it is when you are younger—everything’s larger than life. It was this gigantic thing. Seemed appropriate to assign Jupiter to it.”

“ _Assign Jupiter,_ ” Raven repeats. “You make it sound so _mechanical_.”

“It’s a far away thing, Captain Zero-G,” says Lexa, teasing Raven back. “Like another life entirely. An entire _universe_ away.”

Raven laughs, kneading Lexa’s shoulder, thumb loosening a knot there. “Whatever you say,” she concedes. “That must have been some universe.”

“It had its own youngish charm.”

“Do you wish we met when we were younger?” Clarke asks, mirroring Raven’s kneading.

Lexa swallows back a moan that almost makes it out of her lips. “You wouldn’t have liked me when I was younger.” And then: “ _God,_ your hands.” 

“Whose, chief?” asks Raven. Lexa can only imagine the smirk that must be on her face. “You having fun there?”

“Are you?” Lexa sighs.

“I think we’re fairly all right over here,” says Clarke. “Why wouldn’t we have liked you? You must have been a firecracker.”

“In a manner of speaking, probably. I had a temper and a stubbornness that made me… extraordinarily difficult.”

“I think we would have gotten along fine, chief,” Raven says.

“That’s because you’re an asshole, Rae,” Clarke interjects, teasing. “But you know what? It would have been a swell time.”

“Well, this universe has you guys, so it’s not really so bad,” Lexa says, looking over her shoulder and smiling at them. A gust of wind passes through the open window and it makes Lexa shiver.

“Best to wrap you back up, eh?” Raven says finally, lifting Lexa’s shirt off the back of the chair and handing it over. Clarke hangs back, finger still hooked into Lexa’s pocket, watching as Lexa puts her shirt back on. “Can’t have you catching a cold.”

“Thank you,” Lexa says, hand lingering around Raven’s. “So. Was it as you had expected?”

“More or less,” says Raven, smiling as she moves for the half-empty beer bottles in the middle of the room. “I believe we have drinks to finish.”

The rest of the night passes by in a pleasant, buzz-filled blur. They return to their heap in the sofa, legs all tangled, beers in hand. At some point, Raven lights a cigarette and they take turns drawing from it, passing it around and blowing wisps of smoke up the ceiling, shooting the breeze about Clarke’s clients and Raven’s papers and Lexa’s ridiculous arrests.

“Why’d you mellow down, chief?” asks Raven, somewhere in the middle of their third and fourth beer. “I imagine that temper would have been… _commonplace,_ considering where you ended up.”

“Temper would have been _dangerous,_ ” says Lexa. “It makes monsters out of the otherwise decent.”

Raven lifts her beer to that. “Amen,” she says. “You truly are one of the decent ones.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Clarke says, lifting her beer in kind. “To mellowing.”

“To decency,” Lexa replies, knocking back the rest of her drink.

*

Six rounds of drinks later, Lexa starts feeling the heaviness set in, wrapping around her head like a newly warmed towel. Everything is slow and loud, and her limbs feel heavy, like they had been filled with concrete. Beside her, Clarke is already napping, while Raven is still sitting on the floor, finishing a cigarette.

“It’d be sunrise in a few,” she tells Raven. It’s the weekend anyhow, so they could always sleep in; besides, it’s not like it’s Lexa’s first time to spend the night.

Raven takes a drag before passing the cigarette over, blowing the smoke toward the window. “Long night, hm?” she just says, leaning back against Lexa on the couch. “Did you have fun?”

Lexa laughs, but softly; she doesn’t want to disturb Clarke, who is tucked under her other arm. “Loads,” she says, drawing from the cigarette slowly. In the almost-morning half-light, the thin column of smoke is dizzying. “It’s always fun with you guys.”

“Even if you lost the bet?”

“ _Especially_ because I lost the bet,” says Lexa, smiling down at Raven before handing the cigarette back.

Raven smiles wider, lifting herself off the floor and perching herself right on Lexa’s leg. “Glad to hear it,” she says, licking her lips. Lexa blinks at the gesture; it’s distracting at best, but not quite as distracting as when Raven actually leans in.

 _If she comes any closer,_ Lexa thinks, holding her breath, waiting. Raven is in slow motion, and the smoke that wraps around her conceals her, partly. _If she gets any closer, I will kiss her._

As if reading her mind, Raven stops midway, as if to leave just enough space for retreat. “You with me, chief?” she asks, her breath warm on Lexa’s face.

Lexa does the rest of it, closing the gap between them herself, a hand cupping the side of Raven’s face. The kiss is soft. There’s an undercurrent of uncertainty that swims right underneath it, but Lexa thinks it’s part of the charm. Apart from it, Raven kisses slowly, like there’s a method she’s following consciously, and her tongue slips into Lexa’s mouth without hesitation, the first chance it gets.

It’s easy to get lost in it; Raven tastes like electricity should there ever be a flavor for it. Her mouth is warm, and Lexa drowns promptly, certainly.

She doesn’t even feel Clarke slowly stirring awake. The next thing she knows, Clarke is pressing further into her, lips now sucking at the pulse point under her ear, a hand now busy fiddling with the button on her jeans.

 _Oh,_ Lexa thinks, reaching for Clarke blindly just as she breaks away from Raven, gasping. When she opens her eyes, she finds Raven already astride her; her knee rubbing quite strategically against Lexa. One of Raven’s hands is on Lexa’s shoulder, while the other is in Clarke’s hair.  

 _Oh. Oh shit._ “Oh fuck,” Lexa hisses. Her head is heavy, and both her hands are full; her entire body feels like it’s been set on fire.

“Don’t overthink it,” says Clarke, fingers finally succeeding in undoing her jeans and unzipping her. She looks over at Raven, a glint of gloating in her eye. They share a laugh—it feels like a private one, like one they’ve shared before, and Lexa feels herself clench at the sight of it, that electric _something_ that she’s always known to be there all along between the two.

When Raven reaches over to Clarke to tuck her hair away from her face, Clarke leans into Raven’s hand before moving closer to kiss her.

Lexa blinks, as if ascertaining that she is not dreaming. But when she closes her eyes and then opens them again, a couple of moments later, Raven and Clarke are still on her lap, sharing a kiss. It’s a comfortable one; a familiar one. Like a kiss two people share when no one’s looking. _This has been here all along,_ Lexa just thinks, marveling at their silhouettes.

Raven pulls back first, coming up for air. “Sorry,” she murmurs to Lexa, smiling lazily. “Didn’t mean to exclude you.”

Lexa just looks on and says nothing. She’s not quite sure what to say, and she certainly does not want the moment broken.

“You all right?” Clarke asks, rubbing her thumb gently against Lexa’s cheek. “Too much?”

Lexa shakes her head. “No, never—I just. I want to know _you,_ ” she says, shifting her eyes from Clarke to Raven and back. “I want to know _this._ ”

Raven drapes her arms around Lexa’s neck, pressing her forehead against Lexa’s. “Okay then,” she says, kissing her again. “Slowly, yeah?”

 _Slowly._ Clarke takes that as her cue to slip further down Lexa’s pants, and _oh,_ Lexa just thinks, _it’s going to be a much longer night,_ as she arches off the couch and lets Clarke in, surrendering.

*

Everything about them is familiar and strange at the same time: the way Clarke sounds when she moans into her ear; the way Raven tastes after she’s come a third time. Somewhere deep inside Lexa’s mind, the part that once considered these questions, she had formed her own hypotheses.

Now that Lexa’s here though—right between Clarke’s legs, or licking up between her breasts, or fucking Raven with two fingers, or letting Raven fuck _her_ with two of her own—Lexa realizes it is, in fact, _nothing_ quite like she had originally imagined.

Her imagination is thoroughly limited, it seems. Especially when her turn comes to watch them fuck.

 _Christ._ The first time around, they let Lexa come first. They put her away gently afterwards, buzzed and spent. Raven grins at her as she licks her fingers, before mouthing at her: _Behave, okay?_ Lexa does as she is told and waits.

Clarke fucks first. Raven does not get to negotiate, because Clarke’s upon her almost immediately, suckling. Raven arches into Clarke, mouth open. There’s nothing quite like Raven’s face when she’s in the middle of something as pleasurable as Clarke inching her way down her torso, stomach, and eventually, cunt. Lexa has to bite her tongue to keep from moaning out loud.

Clarke catches the sound anyway and looks straight at Lexa while she’s eating Raven out, like she’s issuing a threat: _You’re next._

Lexa crosses her legs, feeling the wetness pooling underneath her and staining the bed. Clarke does not break eye contact; at least, not until Raven starts pulling at her hair—at which point Lexa promptly shifts her eye towards Raven face, now contorted beautifully as she teeters on the edge of coming.

 _I’d love to make this face beg,_ Lexa thinks idly, reaching over to roll Raven’s nipple between her fingers. She thrashes against Clarke harder, and _oh, the sound of her._ The sound of Clarke’s mouth as it slips and slides against her. The creak of the bed underneath them as Raven shudders through her massive orgasm.

Lexa leans in, throwing an arm around Raven to keep her from shaking apart and planting kisses along her jawline. Underneath, Clarke keeps working her through it, and Lexa can feel herself get even wetter just listening.

“Fuck,” Raven breathes out finally, coming down. “Jesus, Clarke. Your _mouth._ ”

Clarke pushes up to her knees, touching the corners of her lips gingerly while looking at Raven with a sly smile. “Good?” She’s already too turned on, and her eyes are glazed over. She turns to Lexa, licking her lips. “You ok?” 

Lexa feels her throat go dry. “Sure,” she manages.

Raven laughs; the sound is rich, as should be expected from someone who had just come as hard as she had. “God, if you hadn’t drained me so much Griffin, I’d be all over the _both_ of you right now.”

Clarke whimpers before moving over to Lexa and straddling her. “ _Please,_ ” she whispers, and Lexa groans at how wet she is right on her lap.

“Please what?” Lexa asks, scratching at Clarke’s thighs lightly.

“Please fuck me.”

Lexa moans as she slips a finger into Clarke. She’s so wet it slides easily to the hilt, and when she curls at the spot she finds there, Clarke fucking _mewls_. 

“Add another. _Please._ ”

 _Fuck._ Lexa grabs hold of Clarke’s hip and angles it, slipping out before pushing back in with two. Clarke jogs her hips, just as Raven comes up behind her and palms her breasts. Lexa jerks into Clarke harder at the sight.

“Steady, chief,” Raven says, looking at Lexa from over Clarke’s shoulder. “This is going to be a long, slow ride.”

Between them Clarke sighs, eyes closed. She is as good as lost, as Raven guides her movements, hand on her hip. It’s Raven’s turn to hold Lexa’s gaze now, and _god,_ Lexa thinks she’s been coming in small doses all night.

When Clarke comes, it’s long and drawn out; Raven coos into her ear softly, so soft that Lexa cannot hear what is being said, though judging by how _dirtily_ she looks at Lexa throughout, perhaps it’s safe to say Raven has been talking to Clarke about her.

Later, when Clarke is so spent she could no longer go on, Raven lifts her off Lexa’s fingers and tucks her in.

“What were you saying in her ear?” Lexa asks Raven, who’s now pushing into her lazily. She’s been wet all night; although she’s already come earlier, after everything she’s seen, she truly needs to come one last time.

“Clarke’s easy,” says Raven, fucking her with long, slow strokes. “I know just how to play her.”

“ _God,_ ” says Lexa, seeing stars with every push and pull. “What—your whispers. What were they?”

Raven grins wider as she leans in close. “It was all you,” she says. “We were thinking about how wet you’d be. How you’d taste like, all turned on from being straddled all night. About how I’d like to turn you over and fuck you on your knees. About how you’d probably like that.”

 _Fuck._ Lexa’s hips jerk at the words. Raven’s got her number, and she’s got her _so close._

“And I think I’m right,” Raven says. “Am I not?” She stills her fingers like she’s waiting for an answer.

“ _Don’t stop,_ ” says Lexa. “Please. Yes. _Anything_.”

“Careful with anything,” Raven just says, circling her faster, and just like that Lexa’s gone with a shout, neighbors be damned.

*


End file.
